Found
by the-writer-05
Summary: When he was 10 years old, Harry Potter ran away from the clutches of his aunt and uncle. Now 13, he is presumed to have been killed by Death Eaters. How will Remus Lupin, after seeing Harry for the first time in 12 years, bring him back into the wizarding world and convince him to stay?
1. Prologue

**A/N -** There may be fics like this, but please I do not intend to still anybody else's writing! I've tried to make the storyline of this as original as possible, but bear with me on this one. :)

 **Disclaimer -** I don't own Harry Potter.

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 **Prologue**

Harry didn't know why the glass disappeared.

He didn't know why the snake could talk to him, either. Maybe it was normal-but he doubted that. Harry Potter was anything but normal, and he knew that. Sometimes strange things would happen that he couldn't explain. Even if he could explain, it wasn't like his uncle would listen before unbuckling his belt.

Harry's eyes widened when he saw his uncle's purple face turn towards him after he and Petunia had tended to Dudley and his friend Piers. The zoo keeper was busy profusely apologizing to Petunia and offering a free ticket for the next time they visited, so nobody bat an eye when Vernon grabbed Harry by the shirt collar.

"Who do you think you are, boy, setting a _serpent_ on my son?" he snarled.

"I-I didn't mean-"

"Don't talk back to me!" Vernon hissed. Then, quietly so that nobody could hear, he said, "Once Dudders' friend goes home, you'll get your punishment. You just wait, boy, and I'll see to it that you won't be able to walk for a week."

Harry gulped, but didn't doubt that Vernon would do such a thing for a second. After all, his uncle had done it before. When he was younger, Petunia had, at Vernon's insistence, given Harry a haircut. It wasn't good at all, and half of his head was bald and all of the hair that remained was uneven. Harry had gone to bed that night in shame, and then woke up the next morning to a whole new head of hair, as if his aunt had never cut it in the first place. When his uncle saw, he had paused his breakfast just so he could 'discipline' his nephew properly. When Harry had regained consciousness, it was well past noon.

The drive home from the zoo was tense. For Harry, at least. His hands were sweaty as he eyed his uncle and he fingered his shirt sleeve nervously. Meanwhile, Petunia was repeatedly asking if Dudley was all right, while also giving Harry dirty looks in the car mirror.

Piers and Dudley watched the television for about half an hour as they waited for Piers' mother to come and pick him up. Harry stayed in his cupboard, anxious. Vernon and Petunia were whispering in not-so-hushed tones in the hallway.

"Vernon, that was-it was- _you know what_. We-haven't done a good enough job, I'm afraid-"

"Pet," Vernon said in an assuring voice. Harry rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname. "There will be no problem. The boy will get what's coming to him, he will. All of his- _abnormality-_ -will be squashed out of him after tonight. And if he doesn't live to see the end result? It will be no problem," he repeated.

Harry visibly-or not visibly, as it was dark in his cupboard-flinched when he heard a knock on the front door of Number 4, Privet Drive. He heard voices conversing for a few moments, until he heard the door slam shut. Then it was quiet.

 _Would Uncle Vernon really kill me?_ he thought. He knew that his uncle was more than capable of doing so physically-after all, a few good beltings to head and chest would do the job, and if not, Harry was fairly certain that Vernon had a gun in his possession. Harry could be dead by the morning.

He wondered who would care, if anybody. He didn't have many friends at school, and no other family other than the Dursleys. He wondered if they would even give him a proper funeral, or resting place, or if they would just leave his body in the cupboard forever. Harry shuddered at the thought.

He jumped when his uncle opened the door to his small 'room.' Vernon looked downright giddy, like a child holding an ice cream cone. Only he was holding instead a long, leather belt in his right hand. The metal part of the buckle glowed a fiery orange. Harry supposed he had dangled it over the open flame of the fireplace beforehand. _This is going to hurt,_ he thought.

"Take off your shirt, boy, and turn around."

Harry did what he was told. He knew from past experience that it would only be worse if he resisted. He'd tried to move out of the way, once, when he was about seven, but instead Vernon had just made the beating last even longer, and he hit him in places he knew would hurt much more than just his back.

"How dare you endanger my family?" Vernon hissed. "Making that snake attack Dudders-"

"I didn't," Harry said quietly. He looked shocked at himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

That was his mistake.

Vernon whipped him right across the shoulder, making the boy cry out in pain. The welt had just began to form when Vernon did it again, on the back this time. And again. And again.

"Stop!" Harry choked out between lashes.

"Not yet, freak," his uncle growled. "I'm not squashing it out of you…"

Harry didn't have time to think about what 'it' was before Vernon struck him again, this time on the back of his neck. He knew that had it been on the front of his neck-his throat-he certainly would've died. Harry wasn't sure if he was glad or not that he hadn't. After all, he was sure that, in death, he wouldn't feel the pain anymore. And maybe he'd see his parents again.

A thought hung in the back of his mind that maybe his parents wouldn't want to meet him, after all these years. Harry didn't see himself someone to be proud of. After all, all he ever did was submit to the neglect his aunt and uncle bestowed upon him. He rarely fought back, fearful of the consequence of doing so. He couldn't stand up to them. He wasn't brave.

After several minutes of non-stop lashing, Harry lost consciousness and felt the pain drift away. He vaguely heard his uncle snarl, "No...I'm not done with you yet…" before finding himself in a peaceful sleep, free of nightmares. Vernon, after seeing that his victim was not conscious, belted him one last time across the chest, before leaving and slamming the cupboard door shut behind him.

Harry woke hours later. He groaned and suppressed a cry of pain when he sat up, clutching his chest. He had a pounding headache, but that was certainly not the worst pain he was in at the current time. After carefully taking off his bloody shirt, Harry discovered several welts across his body from his uncle's ruthless beating.

Anger bubbled up inside him like it never had before.

He was surprised by this. Harry was rarely angry at his relatives. It didn't matter how many times they hurt him. Actually, that's a bit inaccurate-it _did_ matter. Perhaps if the Dursleys abused him a little less, he would have more room for emotions besides fear, pain, and shame. Those were the only three he ever felt in large amounts or for extended periods of time. Until now.

Harry wanted revenge. He pushed away all of his self-deprecatory thoughts (like how his parents wouldn't want to see him when he died-of _course_ they would). But Harry wanted something other than revenge as well: safety. Safety and _independence_ from his terrible aunt and uncle and their beatings and starvation and lies. He didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

Picking the lock on his cupboard door with a stray paperclip he'd found, Harry made his way down the hallway of the Dursley household. It was dark and silent. He contemplated bringing a few things with him-but then again, he didn't have many possessions. He finally decided to steal some of his uncle's cash he knew that he stowed in one of the kitchen cupboards, under a piece of expensive china. He shoved the pounds into his pants pocket and continued towards the door.

"BOY!"

 _No._ He was so close.

Vernon's face was purple with rage as his nephew stood there, beaten and bloody, about to leave. Then he noticed the cash sticking out his pocket, and lost it.

"YOU HAVE THE _NERVE_ TO STEAL FROM ME, FREAK? MY HARD-EARNED MONEY? PETUNIA AND I RISKED SO MUCH ACCEPTING TO RAISE YOU! WE GAVE YOU A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD, FOOD ON THE TABLE-"

" _NO YOU DIDN'T_!" Harry screeched. "You _never_ fed me! I HAD TO SNEAK INTO THE KITCHEN IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, UNCLE VERNON! You-"

But Vernon had already crossed the room and was right up next to Harry, spitting in his face as he spoke. "You listen to me," he said, his voice steely calm.

"NO, I WON'T LISTEN TO YOU ANYMORE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH!"

"Petunia and I were very charitable, taking you in the way we have! If it weren't for us, you'd be in an orphanage, or better yet, dead! You ought to be kissing our shoes! And this is how you repay us?"

Harry made to run for it again, but his uncle grabbed his shoulder before he could. It just so happened to be injured shoulder. He yelped in pain and surprise. Then, turning to Vernon, said, "LET! ME! GO!"

"NOT JUST YET, BOY! GIVE ME MY MONEY!"

"I need it more than you ever will!"

Vernon slapped his nephew across the face as hard as he could. The ten-year-old put his own hand to where the red hand-shaped mark was surely forming on his face. A strange sense of power surged through him. He raised his arms, first covering his face, then gesturing towards Vernon forcefully. "GET _BACK!_ "

It was if a small explosion occurred right in front of the man. Vernon was blasted backwards and thrown five feet into the air before hitting the wall with a satisfying _crunch_. Harry didn't even bother wondering where the power had come from, or if Vernon was injured. Instead, he gazed at the unresponsive figure now laying on the ground and hissed, "Goodbye."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore woke with a start.

It was very early in the morning and the man had been deep in sleep when some unexplained force seemed to startle him awake. Knowing that he would not be able go back to sleep now, he got out of bed.

Albus wandered about the headmaster's office at Hogwarts for what seemed like hours, trying to figure out what was wrong. He checked all of his contraptions carefully and found nothing. Until he got to the last one.

The last was a tracking device he had made to monitor young Harry Potter a decade previously, after the boy had been placed at Number 4, Privet Drive. It showed his heart rate and other things of the like, as well as his location within Number 4 (if he wasn't in the house, it just showed him as Elsewhere). The only thing it needed to work was for Harry Potter to be a) alive, b) living with his relatives, or c) under the age of 17.

When the contraption showed no signs of working at all, Albus immediately eliminated the third option, for obvious reasons. His breathing accelerated when he realized that that meant that he was either dead or no longer under his mother's protection. So Harry was either already killed by Death Eaters, or most likely about to be.

He'd pay a visit to the Dursley residence in the morning, he decided. Now, he needed to contact the Order. "Expecto Patronum." A silvery phoenix burst out of his wand and looked at its caster for instructions. "Go tell Cornelius Fudge that there is an emergency regarding the Boy Who Lived."

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Please review! Also I will try to update as often as I can, but writing words is _hard_ , so no promises.


	2. 1 - Runaway

**A/N -** Thanks for everyone who reviewed! Also, please note - I'm American. I know Harry Potter takes place in England, and I do try to get the story to match that, but sometimes it doesn't. If something's really off, though, leave a review about it or something.

 **Disclaimer -** I don't own Harry Potter.

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 **Chapter 1 - Runaway**

Remus Lupin stared at the sign of the grocery store and sighed. It would have to do.

He'd held his past job for quite a while. Seven months had given the manager of the bar he'd been working at seven full moons to figure out that his new bartender with amber eyes and scars across his face was in fact a werewolf. When the manager confronted him about it, Remus had begged him not to tell anyone, and fled.

It was what he did best, after all. Running away. He used to think he truly was a Gryffindor, but as the years went on he grew less sure. After graduation from Hogwarts, Remus had run away from his long-had Hogwarts friends. It hadn't been until Sirius had found him two days later in some bar in Sussex did he open up about it. That had been the first time, and most likely the last.

Remus had told Sirius that it all went down to his lycanthropy, his habit of running away. He didn't truly believe that he deserved to have graduated Hogwarts, or made such amazing friends. Remus hadn't exactly been sober when he spilled it all, but Sirius definitely was, and had relayed the whole conversation to his hungover friend the next day. Remus had been embarrassed, but Sirius had laughed it off and told him not to worry about it.

The next time Remus had run away was towards the end of the war. He'd seen the way Sirius and many others looked at him during Order of the Phoenix meetings. They didn't trust him, not at all. Remus didn't particularly blame them-it was easier to blame the werewolf than an actual human, he reasoned. So, at first, he'd put it behind him. He ignored them.

That hadn't lasted very long (barely a week). It was late September 1981 when Remus had first had his suspicions about his friends' suspicions, and now it was early October and Remus had stayed behind to help Hestia Jones clean all of the wine glasses the other Order members had been using at headquarters. Once they were done, Hestia had told Remus that he should get going and he had, after some persuasion, obliged. But not before overhearing a conversation happening down one of the hallways.

" _Sirius, I'm telling you! It is not Remus!"_

 _Remus froze._

" _The evidence is all there, James!" a familiar voice argued. "Dumbledore said that_

 _someone is the spy! Remus has been acting strange lately, open your eyes."_

" _I'm not surprised that he's been acting strangely, as it is a full moon next week."_

" _A full moon," Sirius muttered under his breath._

 _Remus saw James narrow his eyes. "You think he's the spy because he's a werewolf, don't you."_

" _No-well, yes, but-"_

" _Sirius," he said wearily. "It's getting late. I have to get back to Lily and Harry. I think we should both leave."_

 _Sirius' eyes widened in shock, then, after a pause, he said sharply, "Fine."_

 _Once Sirius walked out of the headquarters and Disapparated, James made to follow him until Remus said, "Wait!"_

 _Soon, both Marauders found themselves seated at the dining room table. Hestia had already gone upstairs, so they were completely alone._

" _You heard all of that, didn't you, Moony?" James said._

" _Yes," Remus admitted._

" _Sirius doesn't know what he's talking about. Of course you're not the spy." He paused. "I trust you."_

 _Remus looked genuinely surprised. "Really?"_

" _Of course."_

" _Thank you." The werewolf glanced around to make sure nobody was overhearing their conversation. After a moment, he asked, "So, what are you going to do?"_

 _James sighed. "Go back into hiding, I suppose. I don't want to, Moony. I love Lily and Harry, and I'd do anything for them, but it's hard. I want to be_ doing _something."_

" _You are doing something, Prongs. You're protecting them. And yourself."_

 _There was silence. Neither wizard could think of what to say. Remus found himself lost in thought, about Sirius and James and Peter. They'd already done so much for him-accepting him, becoming Animagi. But now it just wasn't the same. Remus was fairly certain that both Peter and Sirius didn't trust him. They thought him to be a traitor, all because he was a werewolf. But James didn't. For that, he was grateful, but at the same time, he was confused. "Why do you trust me?" he asked._

" _Because you're my friend. I trust all of my friends," the other wizard answered. He paused. "I trust Sirius and Peter as much as you. They're misguided. It's-it's a rather hard time to trust people blindly, and they seem to know that more than me. I don't think anybody is the spy, much less one of my best mates. When all of this is over, Remus, Sirius will see that."_

" _How do you know it will be over?" Remus asked with difficulty._

" _Everything ends at some point. The good and the bad." James looked up into his friend's amber eyes. "What will_ you _be doing in the meantime?"_

" _What?"_

" _Don't run away, Remus. I can see that you want to, but you can't. Although they don't seem to see it right now, the Order needs you. Sirius needs you as well."_

" _They don't. You saw the way Sirius looked at me today during the meeting. He doesn't need me. Nobody does._ You _certainly don't."_

" _And how do you kno-"_

" _Dumbledore asked me to be a spy."_

 _James looked at him strangely. Feeling the need to clarify, Remus added, "For the Order. Against the Dark."_

" _Why?"_

" _I'm a werewolf. I'll be of good use, spying against other lycanthropes. Trying to get them to switch sides. Many of them have already joined You-Know-Who. I can convince them to help us."_

" _And what if they don't? What if you're killed?"_

" _What if_ you're _killed, James? You already have a target painted on your back! Marrying a muggle-born and being a 'blood traitor!' Not that that's bad," he added, seeing James' expression. "This is a war we're barely surviving, much less winning. We need to be prepared for everything. And I don't care what you think of it-I'm accepting Dumbledore's offer! It's the most useful I can be."_

" _You're running away," James murmured._

 _Remus scowled. "And you're not?"_

James had left right after that, Apparating to the land outside of his cottage in Godric's Hollow. Remus had wanted to follow him, but decided not to. Instead he had floo'd Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, and accepted his offer to become a spy, trying not to think about what James had said.

" _What if you're killed?"_

" _What if_ you're _killed?"_

Although Remus hadn't known it at the time, that was the last conversation he'd had with James. He regretted the way he'd said some things, and hoped to make it right someday, but Remus didn't regret becoming a spy for the Order. He had felt useful, for once.

Remus swallowed down the memory of his dead friend and continued walking into the grocery. It was rather small and located in Yorkshire, just a few miles north of Remus' cottage. Remus wondered why he'd never tried to get a job here in the past 14 years he'd been living the way he was.

"Good morning," said a man behind one of the counters gruffly. "Can I help you with something?"

"Ah, yes," Remus replied nervously. "I'm here to apply for a job. Are there any openings?"

"Damn right, there are," the man answered, looking around at the rather empty store. Then, bringing his attention back to Remus, he said, "You don't even need to apply, lad. We'd be out of our minds to turn a worker away."

The younger man was a little surprised. "Really? Thank you, sir. When can I start?"

"Hold on, there. You haven't even told me your name. Mine's Phil Teresky, by the way."

Remembering his manners, Remus held out his hand. Teresky shook it roughly. "I apologize. My name is Remus Lupin."

"Alright then, Lupin." Then he began to explain everything Remus would need to know to work at the grocery-which he learned was simply called Teresky's-and also introduced him to some of the other employees working at the current time. They all said hello politely, then went back to what they'd been doing. Well, except for one. A young man named Christopher Weck chatted away with Remus happily until Teresky ordered them both back to work. They both happened to be stationed restocking the small store, so they ran into one another many times throughout the day.

A question burned in the back of Remus' mind after exchanging small talk with Weck for a few minutes. "How old are you, Christopher?" he asked, hoping it didn't come off as rude.

Christopher leaned in closer to Remus from across a barrel of apples. "I'm actually only fourteen, but Mr. Teresky let me work here anyways. I told him I was sixteen last year, when I came here looking for a job. If he's noticed I'm not the age I am, he must not care. He hasn't fired me yet, has he?"

"I suppose not," Remus answered hesitantly. "Why do you need to work so much, if you're only fourteen?" As soon as the question left his lips, he regretted it. Maybe the age question wasn't received as rude, but _this_ certainly would be. Christopher probably just needed money, maybe even more desperately than Remus, if he really was that young. And besides, Remus wasn't one to judge someone because they needed money.

"I-I need pounds," Christopher said quietly. "And I don't particularly like stealing. My mum-" He stopped.

"It's all right," Remus said quickly. "You don't have to tell me. I shouldn't have asked. I know that if someone asked me what I just did, I wouldn't be very kind. I'm sorry."

"So, why do _you_ work?"

He jumped. "What?"

Christopher smirked innocently. "I reckon it's just payback. You ask me, I ask you. Fair?"

"Fine," Remus muttered. "I work because I, too, need money. But then again, isn't that why everyone works?"

"I suppose."

They worked in silence after that. Occasionally, Teresky would walk up to either of them, see that they were doing their job, nod, and go back behind the counter. By the way he was staring down at his lap, Remus suspected his new boss was reading a magazine. He found that it didn't seem to bother him. Usually, people slacking off drove him crazy and most often he ended up scolding them. Back at Hogwarts, when he'd been a prefect, he'd tell people off for doing stupid things instead of their school work, but never actually punished them. Especially not his friends. Sirius and James had often flung rubberbands at each other across the common room for a while, and then stayed up all night catching up on all of the homework and essays they'd missed. Remus had always off-handedly told them that they'd better do their work earlier, but never actually confronted them about it. Over time Remus realized that this was because they'd befriended him when nobody else had, and hadn't wanted to mess up the friendship that at the time seemed to indestructible.

It turned out Sirius had been the one to break the unbreakable brotherhood they'd all formed.

Remus had been shocked when Dumbledore had ordered him back to headquarters to tell him the news of what had happened. James and Lily were dead (but Harry wasn't). Peter was dead (murdered, in fact, by his own friend). Sirius was in Azkaban (no trial was even required when all of the evidence was right there). Remus hadn't left the house for weeks, other than to attend the Potters' funeral and Peter's memorial service. It was only the full moon that jolted him back into reality. But that doesn't mean Remus liked that reality, or even accepted it for that matter.

Now, fourteen years later, Remus was slightly better off than he had been. He had a definite place to transform when the moon waxed full. He had a house, however small and run down it may have been. He had the essentials-air to breath (obviously), water to drink (there was a stream nearby his cottage, also there was the spell _aguamenti_ ), food to eat (sometimes that was a problem, but he hadn't died of starvation yet, so that's something), and shelter to live in. He remembered an old saying his Muggle mother had told him when he was young.

" _A person can live three minutes without air, three hours without proper shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food-"_

" _And three months without love," a six-year-old Remus finished._

 _His mother smiled brightly at him and smoothed out his sandy blonde hair. "That's right, dear. A human just simply cannot continue living without love in their lives-they would perish within months. But," she added, looking at her son's rather scared facial expression, "you needn't worry about that part, Remus. You'll always be loved."_

Remus nearly scoffed as the childhood memory washed over him. He had trouble believing that his younger self had believed what his mother had told him-both that humans couldn't survive without love, and that he'd never need to worry about that. Remus had gone well over three months without his best friends or even his parents; as his mother had died a year after he'd graduated Hogwarts, and although Lyall Lupin was still alive and on good terms with his son, Remus rarely visited and didn't particularly want to. He looked up to his father and didn't want him seeing him struggling the way he was.

At the time, Remus really had believed that he'd always be loved. He'd still been quite young, and hadn't truly witnessed the discrimination he'd be facing because of his lycanthropy for the rest of his life, however long or short it would be. Lyall had only stopped feeding Remus stories of Hogwarts after his son had asked if he would get to go there, and that had been when he was about eight. Remus knew his parents loved him. When he finally made it to Hogwarts, it had taken him all of first year and a few months of second to realize his friends, the other Marauders, loved him back. Just them saying a simple phrase had earned them each a bone-crushing hug and nearly sent Remus to tears.

" _We don't care that you're a-that you're a you-know-what. It doesn't matter."_

Remus blamed his now wet and shiny eyes on all of the onions he was stocking. He hadn't let himself cry in public for a while. The last time had been three years previously, when Dumbledore had told him of what had happened the night before on Number 4, Privet Drive.

 _Don't think about that, Remus_ , he chided himself. _It doesn't do any good to dwell_ _on the past._

Harry Potter was now seen by most as dead, killed by Death Eaters when he was just ten years old. His blood had been found in various places throughout the normally spotless house and some windows had been broken as well. Vernon Dursley had been knocked unconscious from being thrown across the room by one of the followers of Voldemort, and had yet to wake up. He stayed in a coma in a hospital up north more. Petunia and their son Dudley had moved away from Surrey and into a neighborhood near the hospital that Vernon was at. They'd told Aurors that they hadn't seen anything the night Harry Potter disappeared because they'd been asleep. The only two people who possibly knew what really happened were Harry and Vernon, and since neither of them could be questioned, the events that had taken place late at night on Number 4, Privet Drive were unknown to all.

At this point, Remus found that he wished they had found little Harry's body. That way, there was chance for closure. Proper mourning. And if there had been a funeral for the Boy-Who-Lived, Remus hadn't been invited.

A part of Remus still believed Harry to be alive, but after all these years it had diminished into a small, naïve hope in the very back of the werewolf's mind. The search for he wizarding world's savior had been called off after a year of non-stop searching. Remus himself had looked for a few months afterward, but Dumbledore had eventually told his former student to give up.

 _Harry would be 13,_ Remus thought as he continued to place the onions onto the grocery store's bins. _He would've been allowed to go to Hogsmeade this year. I wonder what elective he'd have chosen. Would he have done Quidditch? Surely, he_ is _James' son after all. Chaser, perhaps, like his father._

"Are you alright, Remus?"

The Marauder looked up to see Christopher standing over him, a concerned expression on his face. Remus got up from his crouching position so he'd be even with Christopher. Only then did he notice the single stray tear on his cheek. He brushed it away quickly and said, "Yes, I'm fine. Do you need something?"

"Why were you crying?"

"I was not crying," Remus said, a little sharper than he'd intended.

Christopher looked down sheepishly. "Sorry. I'll get back to work."

* * *

Harry woke suddenly.

It was well past midnight in late August, 1993, and he wondered when he'd ever sleep peacefully. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever gotten more than four hours of sleep at a time. Nightmares almost always found their way into his otherwise peaceful slumbers. Often he couldn't remember what they were even about, which was perhaps even worse because how was he supposed to overcome something if he didn't know what it was?

Harry swallowed and noticed that his throat was extremely sore. He coughed slightly and then, knowing that it was unlikely he'd get back to sleep tonight, rose from the couch he was sleeping on. He considered leaving the small hotel room and going for a walk, but decided against it.

With a flick of his wrist, the single light bulb in the center of the room turned on.

The yellowish light illuminated Harry's living quarters slightly. It was a single room apartment that was about the best he could do, given his lack of a consistent income at the present time. Other than a bathroom, the only room was a just a living area, containing a couch and a coffee table, and a small kitchenette in the corner. The hotel owners limit each guest's stay to two weeks maximum, and Harry knew his deadline was drawing dangerously close.

 _Damn it, that's what woke me up_ , he realized. The two weeks would end _tomorrow._ They probably wouldn't kick him out first thing in the morning-they'd give him until after dinnertime. Either way, by this time tomorrow, Harry would be out onto the streets again. He scolded himself for letting the deadline come this close and began packing up his few possessions. In an old backpack he'd found a year previously, he put two of his three shirts, a pair of jeans, a winter coat for when it grew cold again, a map, and an old, damaged book called _The Outsiders_. He'd gotten it when a library nearby had decided to give away some of their ancient novels to anyone who wanted them. Harry had been immediately drawn to reading, and visited the library quite frequently when he had the time.

Looking at his map, Harry thought hard about where he would go next. He'd always been on the move, ever since he'd ran away from his aunt and uncle's house. He stayed at hotels, got a job as soon as he could, and used the money to pay for food and a place to stay. Then, when the hotels got tired of him, he left and started the cycle over again.

He didn't consider it running away. Not really. But in a way, it was.

Harry wondered where he would go now. He could probably go back to one of the hotels he'd been at before, but what if someone recognized him? All he ever wanted to do was stay off the radar and keep his head down. He hadn't had a real friend before, not while he was on the run and certainly not with the Dursleys. Perhaps he had friends when his parents were still alive. But he was only a baby then.

He didn't remember much about his parents at all. He'd never even seen a picture of them, since Aunt Petunia had always tried to forget the fact that she'd ever had a sister. Sometimes, when he'd been a small child, he'd hoped that some long lost family member would come and take him away from the horrible Dursleys, but that never seemed to happen so he'd eventually stopped hoping. With hope brought disappointment, Harry reasoned. With pessimism, however, he'd either get what he'd expected or be pleasantly surprised. That's what his mindset had always been, anyway.

In the end, Harry decided to try something new. He placed his worn map on the counter and laid it flat. Then, with his eyes closed, he randomly brought his finger down onto the old piece of paper. He opened his eyes and looked to see where he had chosen. He sighed. "Yorkshire it is, then."

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Please review!


	3. 2 - Memories and a Journey

**A/N -** Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! Now, here's my opinion of some of the controversial characters that will be in here, and how I plan to portray them:

Snape - He's extremely well written and I applaud J.K. Rowling for making such a complex backstory for him, however I don't think he's a good person at all. I could go on and on about why, but I won't right now. Anyway, in this fic he will _not_ be any kind of mentor towards Harry at all, and I will generally portray him like he is in canon-mildly (?) bullying his students and not liking Harry because of who his father was. Hope this satisfies ;)

Dumbledore - I don't particularly like him. Some of his actions were for a good reasons, yes, but some, such as placing Harry with an abusive family, could have been avoided. Generally I think he's misguided for the most part, but not only bad or only good. In this fic he's going to have...mixed reviews. Harry won't really like him that much, but won't just be yelling "yOu LeFt mE aT tHe DuRsLeYs!1!111!" the whole time, like in some stories. Remus will respect him to an extent, but if it comes between Harry's wellbeing/happiness and Dumbledore's plans, he'll be choosing Harry.

Ron - I don't understand why people hate him? He's great. Him and the other Weasleys will be here later, but not quite yet. No Ron bashing here! ;)

ALSO, pairings...there won't be much time for them, I'm afraid. I plan on some background Ronmione, Jily (through Remus' various flashbacks/memories) and possibly Hinny. And in this chapter there's hints at Wolfstar, and although I love that ship with all my heart, I understand not everyone does. So there's basically just a few paragraphs saying "they could've been more than friends, but never did. the end." Maybe I'll bring Tonks in here to do something at the end of the fic later. I have the overall plot planned out in my head, but I'll try and see where I could fit some more pairings in if you guys want.

EVEN MORE ALSO...Sirius Black. He hasn't escaped from Azkaban, because the way I saw it, he did it more for Harry than for revenge. He saw that Peter was at Hogwarts with Harry and that Harry was possibly in danger. If Harry's presumed dead already (and he's heard about that by now, Fudge dropped by I guess and gave him a newspaper), then why would he? But don't worry, I'm planning on bringing him into the story later.

And by the way, guys, I posted this on Wattpad too (same username). If you prefer reading it on there.

 **Disclaimer -** I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Remus stared at the lunar chart plastered on his bedroom wall. The full moon was nearing.

It was a week after he'd gotten his job at Teresky's. So far, nobody had asked about his scars, which were silvery-pink and littered his face and arms. Not even Christopher had questioned it; Remus found that surprising. Christopher, now that he'd been acquainted with Remus for a week, had grown to be quite talkative. Their conversations were usually one sided, but occasionally Remus would say more than a sentence at a time.

Remus shifted his weight from side to side nervously as he stood at the front counter of Teresky's grocery store. "Sir?"

Teresky looked up. "Hmm? Is there something you want, lad?"

"Yes. I'd like to request off from tomorrow to Monday. Is that all right?"

The man frowned. "I don't know...Is it an emergency?"

Remus nodded. He'd been expecting this. "My grandmother is terribly sick, up

in...Iceland. I'm afraid it's very important that I visit her, as she may very well be on her deathbed at this point." He looked down mournfully.

Teresky considered him for a moment. Then, he sighed. "All right, all right. I don't see why not. It's only for the weekend, correct?"

"Yes." The full moon was on Saturday-he'd need time to recover. "I promise I'll get back as soon as I can." Teresky nodded, and went back to his magazine. Remus let out a relieved breath and walked back over to where he was restocking a shelf of sliced bread. He wondered when Teresky would start to suspect that there was something off about him. He was Muggle, so it was likely he'd take longer than his last boss, who'd been a wizard (the bar had been in Diagon Alley). Still, even if Teresky didn't know exactly why he was leaving work once a month, surely he'd get tired of the absences and fire him. Remus knew all too well that that was most likely what would happen in a few month's time.

"What was that about?" he heard Christopher ask. The boy was standing down on the other end of the isle, his hands working but his attention on Remus.

"After today, I won't be here until Monday. I've got to visit my grandmother."

"In Iceland?"

Remus nodded. He did actually have a grandmother in Iceland. He used to have a grandfather there, too, but he'd died during Remus' fifth year. Those two grandparents were his father's parents, so they were magical. Hope Lupin, Remus' late mother, had had parents who'd lived in the United States. Remus had only ever met them once.

He'd also only ever been to Iceland a couple of times. Once before he'd been bitten, and then, over a decade later, to bid farewell to his grandfather as he lay dying from a disease incurable even by magic. His grandmother had visited England a few times after that, but not often. She was perfectly healthy, the last Remus checked, but she preferred to stay by herself.

"Oh," was all Christopher said.

They worked in silence after that. Remus found himself looking at Christopher when the boy wasn't looking. He was rather skinny, especially for a fourteen-year-old. He had sandy blonde hair, similar to Remus', but it was longer and less maintained. If it hadn't been for his dark eyes and lack of visible scars, Christopher looked almost like Remus had when he'd been at Hogwarts. Remus had always been rather pale and sickly-looking.

" _Moony, you ought to go have a bowl of soup. You look like you're coming down with something." James smirked and made to feel his friend's forehead with his outstretched hand._

 _Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He pulled away. "No,_ Mum _, I'm fine."_

" _You're turning into a mum, James!" Peter teased. "Offering soup, feeling foreheads! What's next? Are you going to make me eat my vegetables?"_

 _James flushed a bright red. "No, I'm not!"_

" _Face it, Prongs, you're our mum," Sirius said. "You're doing a better job than my wretched mother, though, so good on you."_

" _Really?" James asked. The other three Marauders nodded. "Who's the father, then, Padfoot? Moony?"_

" _What?" Remus asked. "I thought you were my_ mum _! How can I be the father too?"_

" _Nah, Remus," Peter said. "James is Sirius' mum, not yours. He's just your worrisome grandmother who gives you money on Christmas and food all the time!"_

 _They all laughed at that. That_ did _sound like James._

" _No, mates, if Sirius is my son, that's makes Moony my son-in-law, doesn't it?"James said through his laughter._

 _Remus choked on his drink, which only made them all laugh harder._

Remus blinked when the memory ended.

Sirius and him had never really officially _gone out_ , but they'd flirted with each other back and forth for most of sixth and seventh year, after Sirius had come out as gay at the end of fifth. Remus had always seen himself as bisexual, having crushed on girls and boys equally throughout his school years. He'd never actually dated someone, since he so rarely let him get close to people, besides the other Marauders and later Lily Evans.

Everyone had thought that maybe Sirius and Remus would hook up at some point, but it never happened. Maybe it would've if Sirius hadn't ruined it by trying to play that thoughtless prank on Snape at the beginning of sixth year. He'd been forgiven, of course, first by Remus and later by James and Peter. But that had created a rift in their hybrid relationship/close friendship nonetheless. So nothing had ever happened.

All these years later, Remus found that he was glad he and Sirius hadn't become more than friends. He'd been heartbroken enough after Sirius had been arrested, and adding a romantic factor to it would've only made the betrayal worse.

Remus scowled. _Betrayal_. No matter how many times he heard it the word used about what happened between Sirius and the Potters and Peter, it still felt like he'd never know its true meaning. James and Lily had been betrayed, they'd experienced betrayal; how would someone define it without using some form of _betray_? Words didn't seem to be enough to describe betrayal. It'd been the raw emotion, the pain (though not physical) a thousand times worse than any werewolf transformation, that had done it for Remus. He had thought he'd known betrayal when Sirius had sent Snape into the Whomping Willow, but now he knew that that hadn't even been close.

" _WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING, SIRIUS?" Remus shouted once the door of their dorm room had been closed and the two Marauders were alone. "I could have_ killed _them-_ either _of them!"_

" _You-you wouldn't have," Sirius said, exhausted after the events of the night before. "You're still Remus, Moony...You'd have stopped yourself…"_

" _I wouldn't have! You know that!" he argued. "I think we're_ both _damn lucky that neither of them were killed! We both would've been expelled, and I'd have gone to Azkaban," he added._

" _I'm so sorry," Sirius apologized. "I wasn't thinking! Sniv-Snape was pestering me about where you were last night, and I thought maybe you'd just give him a good scare-I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt! James was smarter than me, as usual, and-"_

" _I hurt him."_

" _Madam Pomfrey said he'll be fine-It's just a scratch-I talked to him, he even said so-"_

" _I don't care!" Remus snapped. "I was seconds away from killing him, Sirius, you don't understand. A werewolf cannot decide what he hurts and what he spares on a full moon; I thought I told you all that! The only reason James isn't dead or-or bitten is because you all decided to become bloody Animagi!"_

 _Sirius' eyes widened. "He transformed?" James hadn't told him that…_

" _Yes, into a deer or something like that. It's one of the few things I remember from last night," Remus explained, calmer now but still upset. "I swiped at him, or something, and he fell...He transformed until I could do it again, and fought with me for a bit until transforming back and getting out of the Shrieking Shack. Snape had already gone."_

" _Git," Sirius muttered._

" _Sirius," Remus said, exasperated. "You're missing the point! I could have killed someone!" He took a deep breath and paused. "That's my worst fear, did you know? Killing someone. Becoming a murderer...It's my boggart, too...And it came so close to coming true."_

 _The other boy looked down in shame. "I'm sorry," he murmured._

"You _should_ be sorry," Remus muttered to nobody in particular. _And yet I doubt you actually are,_ he added in his head.

"Huh?" Christopher asked.

Remus snapped out of his thoughts. So often he descended into his unwanted memories; it would be the death of him someday. "Nothing, Christopher," he answered wearily. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Harry took his time thinking of a new false name to use.

Ever since he'd ran away, he'd been calling himself anything but Harry Potter. He'd been a Liam Trusk, a Michael Brown, a Benjamin Camber, and many, many others. Nobody had ever questioned his identity, as he always ensured there was no hesitation before announcing who he was.

Occasionally, someone would seem skeptical at his age. Harry couldn't blame them-even at thirteen, he barely looked eleven due to his malnourishment first from the Dursleys and later from his life on the run. He'd eventually stopped telling people that he was sixteen, instead only lying if they specifically asked. Usually, however, a store owner or bartender or something of that sort would hire him anyway.

"Evan…" Harry muttered, liking the name that had randomly popped into his head. "Evan...Oak...son." He often did that-put together random sounds until he got something that resembled a surname.

He leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway he was standing in, holding out his map under the nearby street light. Yorkshire wasn't very far from where he was currently, but it would be at least three days' walk. Harry didn't particularly want to pay for a train ticket, and wouldn't resort to stealing unless it was an absolute emergency.

Folding up his map and shoving it back into his backpack, Harry began to walk in the direction of Yorkshire, careful to avoid the streetlights. It was in the early hours of the morning in now early September, and he didn't need to be seen by any early risers.

Suddenly, he stopped walking. He was sure he'd heard footsteps on the pavement. They'd sounded close. Harry, deciding that he didn't feel like getting into a fight, began jogging in the opposite direction. He made sure that his own footsteps were light and not likely to be heard (he'd had plenty of practice, being raised by his aunt and uncle…)

"He went this way!"

"Nah-can't hear him-"

"You sure, mate?"

The voices, all male, seemed to be getting closer even as Harry retreated. From

what he could tell through their footsteps and their conversation, there were only three of them, all headed his way. Harry knew he could take them, easily, but not without using his magic.

Magic. Something he'd been raised to consider a swear word. Harry remembered trying to explain how he'd ended up on the roof of the school building when he was six-that hadn't ended well at all. His uncle had slapped him as soon as the words " _it was like magic!"_ left his mouth.

Those instances of his power had been accidental-the school building, the haircut, and similar things. They'd happened when he was frightened or in danger. Over the years, though, Harry had come close to mastering his abilities, using it for the most mundane things, like turning on a light (but only when nobody was around). Occasionally, he'd had to defend himself, like now.

"There ya are!"

Harry felt himself be grabbed roughly on the shoulder. He wondered if he could reason with his attackers before fighting back. He could easily throw one of them into the brick wall of a nearby building, then bargain with the other two to let him go...Perhaps that would work.

"Let me go," he tried first, not expecting it to work.

Instead of doing that, the person now holding him tightly pulled him over to where it was darkest: out of the streetlights and deep into an alleyway between two tall buildings. Harry struggled the whole way, not wanting to lose his ability to see to the darkness. He had realized long ago that he needed his sight to use his magic intentionally.

"What've you got?" said another of the three people (men? Boys? Harry couldn't tell).

"Take his backpack, Frankie, there might be something good in there," a third voice advised.

"No-it's mine-" Harry gasped. He couldn't lose his backpack-it was all he had. All of his money was in there, and clothes, and his map-how would he manage without it? Harry closed his eyes tightly and concentrated, trying to find his magic to defend himself. He imagined he person holding him, being pushed off of him by an invisible force-

A hard punch to his nose stopped all possible concentration. He opened his eyes (not that that helped-he still couldn't see anything) and felt blood spurt from his nose. Another fist connected with his stomach, and he fell to the ground. Lying face down, Harry felt a rough foot keep him down.

"What's in the backpack?"

"None-none of your bloody business!" Harry managed to say. He wasn't feeling as brave as he sounded, however. It was dark. He couldn't use his magic. His nose was definitely broken. And, on top of all that, once this was all over, he probably wouldn't have any of his few possessions or money left. He felt himself be kicked in the face before someone roughly pulled him up.

Harry acted quickly. He threw his fist into whatever or whoever was in front of him, and it connected with what felt like someone's nose. _Good, see how_ he _likes it,_ he thought. The grip on his shoulders loosened slightly.

"Damn it, he broke my nose!" said whoever Harry he punched. "Bloody kid! You're going to pay for that, you are!"

Before they could do anything else, Harry broke away and started running. His bag still on his back, he outran his attackers quickly. It hurt to do so, however, and he was forced to slow down after a few blocks. Blood was still dripping down his chin and onto the ground, and it hurt to breath too hard. He'd broken a rib, he realized. Sighing, he brought out his map again under a streetlight, careful not to jostle his injured chest too much.

Huh. It seemed that the odds were finally on Harry's side. In his quick escape, he'd actually gotten closer to his original destination. Now, he had only a few small towns to go through, which would take most likely until Friday. Then, on Saturday, he'd see if there was a hotel open in Yorkshire, and try to get hired for a small job as soon as possible.

Still suspicious at his burst of good luck, Harry snuck along the sides of buildings in the dark and quickened his pace. He wanted to get to Yorkshire as soon as possible. He'd been _this_ close to losing all of his everything-thought not much, his few things meant more to him that he cared to admit. And how would he have gotten by without the over two hundred pounds stored in the zippered pocket of his bag? He didn't fancy sleeping on the streets unless he was traveling.

When Harry looked up, he saw that skyline was beginning to be tinted a dark magenta color in the east. The few stars that were normally visible around midnight began to fade in the decreasing darkness. He saw Orion, the Hunter, easily spotted by the three stars in a line, and next to it Sirius, the Dog Star.

Throughout the past few years, Harry had been outside a lot, and had become accustomed to his usual nighttime stargazing. Even when he had a place to sleep in a hotel or something of that sort, often he went outside to watch the sky anyway. The North Star was also a reliable way to see if he was going in the right direction, if he didn't have anything else to tell which way was where. And the night sky had always been strangely calming for Harry, especially when he'd still been living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and had been forced to do some of his outdoor chores after sunset. It gave a sense of peace that he so rarely felt in his life.

Without warning, Harry walked into something wide and large. No, some _one. Not again,_ he thought. He hadn't wanted to interact with anybody else until he got to Yorkshire. "Sorry," he grumbled, pushing past the stranger without looking at them.

"Oh! No, it was my fault," the person answered. He sounded male. He paused. Harry looked at him. The mysterious stranger had short-cut blonde hair and brown eyes that looked like a dark wood. He towered over Harry in his tallness and appeared to be in his twenties. "What's your name, kid?" he asked. Harry still hadn't moved.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Evan Oakson," he finally answered, having been given his first chance to use his new fake name.

"Well, hello then, Evan. My name's Alexander-Alexander Weck," the older boy said happily. "You look rather lost. Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere." His voice was full of suspicion-why was this stranger being so friendly? Harry suspected that the blonde was possibly trying to trick him into going with him somewhere. But why? And where?

"Oh, hey," Weck said, putting his hands a little into the air. "I'm not trying to kidnap you, kid. I'm just headed north for the day, visiting my little brother-"

"No," Harry said sharply. "No, thank you. I have to go, excuse me." He began walking away.

"-in Yorkshire, God knows what that kid's been up to without me-"

Harry stopped in his tracks. _Yorkshire._ That's where he needed to go...But at the same time, he didn't want to just get into a car with some stranger he'd just met. Indecision ran through his veins until he finally said, his voice too loud for the quiet street, "Yorkshire, you say?"

Weck nodded. "Yeah, to this one apartment building my brother's staying in. Haven't check in on him much, I'm afraid. But I'm sure he's doing fine. Anyways, you need a lift there or something? I could use some company."

Harry considered his options. He could refuse Weck's offer, and continue walking all the way by himself, and get there in the next day or two. There'd be risk of being attacked by random guys on the street again, and food would most likely pose a minor problem. Or, he could go along with this Alexander Weck guy and get there in less than two hours by car. The risk was the possibility that Weck wasn't as nice as he seemed. Harry knew the consequence of that possibility, if he chose to go with him, would be more severe than if he'd just gone on foot. What if he crashed the car? What if he murdered him?

"My brother," Weck explained when he saw Harry thinking about his offer, "is just like you, Evan. He's lived on the streets for quite a while. I can see him in you. You look about the same age, too. How old are you?"

Harry didn't answer. Making up his mind quickly, he gave one last look at Alexander Weck, and rushed away in the direction he'd been walking in.

* * *

Aw, Harry was so close... ALSO, please review! They mean a lot to me and keep me motivated to continue this story!


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